The Red Raven
by FlyingWithoutWingsLove
Summary: Felicia has always been a peculiar child. Consumed at such a young age by the tales of the mysterious Red Raven, she has always aspired to be as valiant and benevolent as the knight in her beloved legends. When she is given the opportunity to become him, only one thing stands between her and her dream: her gender. Will the magic of a young warlock be enough to fool even Arthur?
1. Prologue

**The Red Raven**

Prologue

_Of Unruly Beginnings and Untimely Ends_

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**A/N: This was a fleeting thought that I had some time ago during one of my many feminist escapades. I finally decided to put it into words, and thus this story emerged. To those of you who are familiar with this title or who read my first attempt, I am pleased to say that I have edited this story drastically in the hopes of making it more refined. I hope you all enjoy this short prologue, and thank you all for reading! The first chapter should be posted shortly.**

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The man brandished a strange marking on his shoulder. With the curves of its broad, black lines, it bore the resemblance of a ring. No scrap of fabric was ever meant to conceal it from sight, not even in the dead of winter when Felicia's mother bundled her so tightly with layers upon layers of fabric, the young girl feared she may never move.

That was only the first characteristic that young Felicia had noticed about the stranger. The second was that the man talked with a peculiar accent.

It caused her brow to furrow upon deciphering his speech, for he spoke in such a ghastly way that made it seem as if it were his intension to conceal each word by his butchering elocution. It was as if he loathed the words he must speak, and thus cursed each one with a gritted diction as they fell from his lips.

The other villagers chortled from their many mocks and jests of the man's inflection but Felicia always found it enchanting. She was drawn to his abnormal conduct for she had one of her own as well.

In truth, she was very disparate, unlike the other girls her age for she chose to dress herself in the raw hide pants, tattered tunics, and working, leather boots that were appropriate for most men to wear, and thus her mother deemed "uncouth" on her youngest daughter. Felicia never understood why it was considered proper for them to wear such articles of comfort while she was only permitted to dress in gowns that were fashioned from the most unruliest and uncomfortable of stiffened fabrics, made complete by shoes with elevated heels that caused her feet to whimper from their confined enclosures. The thought alone still coerces a faint grimace to her visage.

The villagers would have tolerated her abnormal disposition if it had rested with just her demeanor, yet it proceeded to extend to her conduct as well. She refused to sing the idle hymns that were taught to her by her mother and older sister, claiming them to be lackluster and full of trivial nonsense. Her stitching was absolutely abysmal by her mother's standards, for the young girl's head was always somewhere amongst the clouds, concocting fantasies of mystical escapades with danger awaiting each turn. She never sat still long enough, even for her mother to teach her the proper way to prepare a stew that would win her the heart of her husband. Such a notion of romance always resulted in the young girl grimacing.

Despite her mother's disapproval, her father always had adoring words to encourage her with when mother was well out of ear shot, or else they both risked a stern talking to. He was the one who taught Felicia how to properly mount a horse and to skillfully, to the best of the peasant's ability, wield a sword. Thus, Felicia grew to spend her days ridding and hunting by her father's instructions. She was even audacious enough to send the boys back to the hems of their mother's skirts with their tails between their legs after she bested them in a match with wooden swords, often to defend the name and honor of those who were just as peculiar as her.

Therefore, when she looked upon the stranger, she did not see a man to deride and ridicule for his differences, but a man who was alone in his ways, and thus lonely. She saw a companion, and he enriched their friendship by telling her the most magnificent of tales. They were the legends of the Red Raven, and they would live on in her heart long after the man had passed away.


	2. Chapter 1

**The Red Raven**

I

_Of First Encounters and Gauche Assumptions_

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__Her index finger attempted to hide the smirk that conquered her lips and softly graced even the finer of lines that adorned her face. Just one finger stilled the silence and bent it towards her will. The verdant tint within her eyes lapsed upon their supple gray embrace as they implored the maiden to hold her tongue as she approached. Her steps were wide and entranced by the dull thud their cloth captivators remarked with after each subtle sway of movement. She had only obtained the pair of riding boots a few weeks ago and already they were quickly approaching the point of no return. She never could find a pair that could contain her boisterous ways.

Each calculated step brought her closer to her prey, a tall and lanky boy who spoke with the same words laced in the eagerness found only to be wielded by a young child. She could tell it was him by his stance, always favoring his left, and by the way his laughter coarsely filled the room, lapsing upon the edges of the walls in such an unrefined way that spoke of his heart unable to conceal who he truly was. Its resonance threatened to pull the room under the weight of his humor and was, thus, thankful when his chortles finally subsided. There was something naïve about the boy, some sort of youthful exterior, as if he possessed something even he was not aware of. He would bring men towards their knees, crumble mountains by his wake, and curse the moon to fall before the rise of day, but as of now, he was just a mere boy, laughing heavily upon the words shared by friends.

Cupping her hands, the intruder audaciously placed them where she presumed his eyes to be. "Guess who," she whispered through the crack within her adolescent smile. Her fingers laced within one another, offering the boy no sense of sight and therefore no means to cheat upon.

"Felicia?" The name sprang forth with the same zeal of a mid summer's day. Suspicion clouded the boy's mind and hung heavily upon his answer, unable to determine if the culprit truly was his childhood friend, yet it did little to falter the wave of reassurance that broke apart his tension. He had left several months ago for a "better" life and still the images of her and the friends they shared never faded from his mind.

Felicia had witnessed men from their village leave as one stature only to return as the opposite of what was once bestowed upon them. She feared that from his trip, she would lose the boy she once knew to an internal change of adulthood by some exotic means of the far off towns that he had visited. It reassured her to find him still as the same compilation of lanky limbs, feral mass of raven hair, and protruding cerulean eyes of candor that she remembered. Of course, she would never publicly admit that. Not in her right mind, at least.

"I am surprised that you still remember the name of your friend seeing as it has been over a month with no word from you or Gaius."

Upon the recognition of his name, the elderly man peered from behind the leather bound sanctuary of his dusted medical book to see what accusations were threatening his life now, but he was only met by the fierce glare of the younger girl instead. He offered a sheepish smile in return that dwelled upon his humility towards his transgressions before his attention was captivated, once again, by his work.

"One would assume that you had forgotten us back at home, altogether," Merlin's apparently brooding childhood friend concluded with her gaze austerely placed back upon the young warlock, leaving him to deal with the ramifications of his actions as he pleases.

"Felicia?" The faint name came from an even fainter heart as the girl next to Merlin finally found the will to speak. "As in Merlin's childhood friend?" Her auburn eyes passed over Felicia's façade warily, as if she were conjured to be a mirage and not of true existence. The curls that formed the inquisitive girl's tresses seemed to coil upon her contemplation as her gaze shifted between the two figures set before her. This intruder possessed the same unruly raven tresses that curled as it sat flaccidly upon her head, confined in a disheveled bun, the same heart shaped visage that housed her jovial smile and impish verdant eyes that sought adolescent adventure within every waking moment, the same bronzed skin that spoke of her fortitude and of rigorous labor that properly eluded girls her age, and the same unbecoming trousers and tattered tunic as the young girl from Merlin's tales of home. It _must_ be her.

The tightened lines that formed the inquisitive girl's expression seem to soften as her scrutiny ebbed, permitting her features to relax and reveal her true munificent and compassionate visage upon her decision. "It is you," she concluded with such words of grandeur that almost deceived Felicia into believing that this benevolent girl was her companion and not the lanky boy stumbling upon his excuses.

"I have heard so much about you," she continued with eyes wide and eager to finally make acquaintances with the boisterous girl of Merlin's tales. "Merlin has spoken often of you. At times, you are all he talks about. Not that, that is a bad thing," she hastily corrected, silently reprimanding her insubordinate tongue for the prattle it always seemed to produce. "Forgive me, but it feels as if I have known you for ages by the stories Merlin has told."

"Does it now?" It appeared as if Merlin was free of the girl's hellish scorn immersed idly in juvenile mockery. At least for now, he was. Felicia saw it befitting to bestow upon the gawky boy a final authoritarian glare before placing her attention back upon the girl with a zealous smile, appearing at once to be of a different character. "You must be Guinevere! Merlin speaks of you fondly in his letters. Tell me," she whispered, for the intimacy of her proposal compelled her to, as a cunning smirk curled the corners of her lips in her jovial assumptions, "are you two courting?"

"Heavens, no!" Guinevere exclaimed with an apprehensive chortle that appeared taut in her denial. Realizing her proclamation might appear callous to other's ears, her hand bashfully covered her mouth as if to pardon her outburst and prevent herself from speaking ill once more.

She risked a spared glance at Merlin, her auburn eyes dulling by her humility and soft pleas for clemency, only to be perplexed by the young boy's curiously amused expression where one of offense should be. A dubious grin caught somewhere between a wary smirk and a bearing smile seized his lips. It stretched to his inquisitive eyes where it compelled his brow to rise in its contemplation of the inadvertent insult, as if concealed within its callous remark dwelled a hidden motive that he awaited further elucidation upon.

In truth, he had grown accustomed to her inadvertently callous remarks, realizing it to be only one of her many quirks. At times, it reminded him of Felicia, for she too struggled to maintain her insubordinate tongue. It frequently ended with the two of them in a capricious dilemma that they later laughed about in the sanctuary of their homes.

Guinevere spoke hastily and, thus, ineptly as she felt her period of grace and pardon diminishing with every passing second. She continued to feebly babble on; stumbling over her excuses in the similar fashion Merlin often partook in, before the young warlock came to her aid with the irresolute title for what they claimed to be.

"Just friends," Merlin concluded with a dutiful smile that did little to falter Felicia's assumptions of budding romance. Alas, we see only what we choose.

"My mistake," Felicia remarked with a bemused smirk as a flicker of mischief spun gold flakes within the verdant of her eyes. The light seemed enchanted by their radiant shimmer, illuminating them as if to imply the assumption lived on despite the "friend's" inept protests.

Unable to withstand any more degradation for the day, for Arthur already depleted the vast of his resources with his juvenile mockery and jests, Merlin decided a change in conversation was fitting. With a subtle clearing of the throat, purging himself of past embarrassment, he decided to ask the query that was brimming within everyone's mind upon this intruder's arrival. "What brings you to Camelot, dearest friend of mine?" He immersed the title he bestowed upon her in such a copiously saccharine tone in hopes of avoiding her vexed gaze and scornful remarks in the future.

"Do you think you are the only one who can run away from home?" She bantered with a teasing smirk upon her lips despite her hands being placed upon her hips in such a reprimanding manner. "Besides, somebody has to make sure that you write home."

Her jest was only met with the young warlock's astute gaze, unyielding as his brow rose inquisitively, awaiting her true intensions for he knew Felicia to keep secrets in order to not burden those around her. It was a demeanor he mimicked from Gaius and Felicia postulated that the physician was rubbing off on her friend after all, yet regrettably not in the way she had anticipated.

A pregnant silence pressed itself between them until it became thin and brittle by Merlin's vast patience. It was broken only by the remorseful sigh that escaped Felicia's lips; the sound of her defeat.

"Mother has become insufferable since Nessy left to be with her husband." Felicia's brow furrowed as the memories of the past month seemed to haunt her.

Merlin approached in earnest, leaning in to Felicia's words with curiosity as to what condition could have possibly befallen upon her mother in order to compel her to behave so aberrant of herself and to force Felicia to flee from under her thumb. He offered a solemn nod of his head in condolences that assured her explanation to proceed.

"It is awful, Merlin. Positively dreadful!" she pressed as she found the valor to speak her torment. "She has me wearing dresses, singing hymns, and sewing," the words fell from the girl's lips disdainfully as if she were mentioning unforgivable sins and not the frivolous chores of being a lady.

A respectable silence approached the room once more as Felicia's words began to register to their dubious ears, enlightening them with their ghastly connotations. Unable to contain their laughter upon the absurdity of the matter, Merlin snickered whereas Guinevere giggled – for it remains unbecoming of a lady to express such ill content with boisterous laughter. Merlin had warned Guinevere of Felicia's abnormal conduct but never had she fathomed it to reach such an extent. Naturally, Guinevere would admit the garments a lady must clothe herself with were, at the best of times, uncomfortable, and the monotonous tasks that were expected of them to partake in could be considered tedious, yet she always felt a sense of pride and beauty in her work and attire. In all her time, Guinevere has never met a girl such as Felicia who would not agree to this. It was as if she refused her gender all together!

"It's not funny, Merlin!" Despite her vexed glower followed by an irate eye roll of exasperation, Merlin's chortles refused to subside for he always found her anomalous ways amusing, even as children. "Mother is pushing marriage again. It is all she talks about now that she no longer has Nessy's marriage to dot upon." She unceremoniously flopped herself into a nearby chair, earning another chorus of chortles from Merlin as she sank into the chair's restrain with the weight of her quandaries.

Her older sister's marriage had come upon Felicia as a blessing in disguise in order to better conceal her unbecoming nature, knowing that the frivolous floral arrangements and the modest style of Nessy's bridal gown were more concerning to their mother than that of any mischief or tomfoolery Felicia had managed to stir. Nessy, or Vanessa, as she preferred to be called, was rewarded a stroke of luck – as their mother deemed it to be – for her sister had joined hands with a servant to a nobleman, and thus climbed higher up the slanted social ladder. Felicia, on the other hand, could not for the life of her distinguish what part luck played in her sister's misfortune. The man was conceited and supercilious by Felicia's standards and she feared for her sister's happiness. Like Merlin, the two did not see the world fashioned by trifling titles, but by the people who chose to wield them and their proceedings instead. It was a perspective that often lead to trouble for the two. Regardless, After Nessy departed, their mother directed all attention to her youngest daughter's uncouth and unladylike demeanor, preventing Felicia from behaving as her intended, idyllic self as a tomboy.

"Who's the lucky fellow?" Merlin inquired in a jeering tone, his words immersed in his hilarity that curled the corners of his lips in delight. It appears that it was Felicia's turn to receive a lesson in humility; and vengeance, Merlin often found, was sweet.

"William," she crafted the name disdainfully, as if it were its tart taste that caused her to grimace so. With such a childish expression, one might mistake her for younger than she truly was.

Merlin always believed her incapable of maturing. It was the trait he admired most in Felicia for her heart would always remain as pure as it was when they were children playing in fields of summer's wheat, forever capturing her youth. Too often, as Merlin has come to realize from his travels, do we let adulthood corrupt our minds with notions of age that we begin to harden and segregate ourselves from the child within, severing our connection with who we truly are.

William, the name of yet another childhood friend, only restored his ebbing laughter to its previous audible chortles, threatening to cripple the walls as it resonated from them. "That's a terrible idea! He's still frightened of you from the time you threatened him with a broom when we were children."

A supple chuckle fell from Merlin's zealous grin as he reminisced about his companion's trepidation for his youngest and only female friend, giddy from the outlandish humor of it all. Despite her carefree and blithe disposition, Merlin knew what hell Felicia was capable of unleashing when scorned, especially when one such as William threatened to expose his secret of magic – for Felicia was the first to discover Merlin's "gift." It was the very essence of their deviations from the status quo that bound the threads of their friendship.

"He still refuses to look me in the eyes." A chortle, for she refused to giggle as the other foolish girls her age, fell audibly from Felicia's parted grin that was only brightened by the fondness of the shared memory. "He was such a whiny prat as a child," she mused, seeking to justify her actions to Guinevere in order to not lose the grace of her amity so hastily. Felicia has always had a substantial lack of female friends, and her judge of character believed that this timid and munificent Guinevere could endure her lack of charm and uncouth nature. She did not wish to jeopardize such friendship on only their first encounter.

"My child," Gaius finally interjected with bemusement tugging at the corners of his lips in a lopsided grin that was expected of his age as he rose wearily from his medical research, "you are just as peculiar as Merlin has mentioned." Felicia did not find insult to his tone as others had wielded when crafting such adjectives for one as unruly as her. In its place stood only adoration, for Gaius has taken a fondness to the anomalous after all his years of monotony.

"You are welcome to stay here until you find yourself more suitable accommodations. Merlin could use the extra pair of hands with his chores, anyways." Gaius bestowed upon the young warlock an authoritarian glare that spoke of his discontent in Merlin's failed attempts of cleansing the leech tank. Through it rippled the blithe jests of Gaius's lighthearted mock, as it emerged through the soft smile that adorned his lips for the boy who he now thought of as a son. His gaze returned to Felicia, compassionate in its embrace, as he expected to think of her as a daughter in time.

An exuberant smile, one that mirrored Merlin's, spread across Felicia's full lips as she expressed her gratitude with endless benevolent words. She believed them alone to be a meager gesture of appreciation for his tolerance towards her "peculiar" personality, knowing that she is as every bit of uncouth and incorrigibly abnormal as the rumors mentioned. However, she possessed no other means at the time. She knew rigorous labor was required of her in order to repay all of their considerate compassion, and she would not shy away from it when its time came.

Thus, Felicia was welcomed to Camelot with more hospitality than she believed to have deserved.

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**A/N: Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed the first **_**real**_** chapter of The Red Raven. Please leave a review with any critique, questions, proclamations of love – Gee, how did that get there? – comments, or suggestions that you may have. I would especially appreciate some suggestions because I created this story on a whim, and therefore, I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this. I promise to love anything you give me, so please hit that review button! Hit it like you mean it!**


	3. Chapter 2

**The Red Raven**

II

_Of Callous Tongues and Silent Reprimands_

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**A/N: Hello, lovely readers! I wanted to start by thanking those of you who have added this story and who reviewed. I'm thrilled to be receiving such positive feedback on this story and I will respond to your kind words at the end of the chapter. Thank you all so much!**

**This was a bit of a rushed job so I apologize for any errors you may find, but the pressure was on to post this before I returned to college (blah, learning). I hope you all still enjoy the chapter, and please tell me what you think!**

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The young maiden's hands passed tenderly over the horse's main despite the calluses that riddled her palms from previous hard days' worth of labor that all seemed to blend into one within her mind. Brushing her hand on top her trousers, she cleansed them of the loose strands of horse's hair that did not belong to her. She found herself unperturbed within the tranquility of the stable, surrounded by the beings that seemed to endure her unruly presence best, their burnished black eyes only holding affection for the peculiar girl who brought them their supper and tended to them in such a placid manner that had eluded the other servants. She caressed each horse's main with such aberrantly tender hands of reverence that the horses bestowed upon her their own level of admiration entwined within the pleasant neighs of affection in return.

The head of one of the stallion's nuzzled her chest lightly as he nibbled absently at the feeble strand of fabric that pulled the opening of the maiden's tunic tightly across her chest, compelling a soft chortle to escape the girl's lips upon the realization of her companion's insatiable appetite. She patted a weathered hand affectionately across his snout and offered the sumptuous gift of a stout carrot in the other. The stallion fed upon the gingered vegetable eagerly, pleased that the girl was spoiling him with such lavish gifts and not the mundane oats that normally occupied his feeding bin. He neighed his gratitude while placing his head fondly against the palm of her hand, and the girl felt a sense of pride in the compassion of the brief acknowledgment.

However, the moment was stolen from her all too quickly as the abrupt creaking of the stable's doors, crying from their burdened weight and age, resonated against the stable walls and tainting its serenity with its intrusion. Their cries were followed by an authoritative voice that Felicia found herself caring little for as it appeared to reverberate within the owner's stern strides.

"You, stable boy," the callous term bestowed upon the begrudging Felicia rang tenaciously throughout her ears, cradled by such an arrogant tone that stung her pride with their venomous connotations. Felicia realized that her rugged ensemble did little to accentuate the curves she possessed, and was thus often mistaken for the wrong gender due to her unprecedented wardrobe decisions, yet she never became accustomed to being referred to as a boy, especially in such a boorish manor.

"Fetch some water for my horse and be quick about it." The pretentious voice continued its demands with such a dictatorial manner that spilled forth upon the room and conquered all within its sight.

The corners of Felicia's lips plummeted to a scowl, weighted by her startled disapproval of the audacity of such a pompous voice. Its very utterance compelled her jaw to clench and her bones to cringe as her skin pulled tightly over her pride, clinging to the only belonging the young maiden had left to possess. It was such an supercilious voice that demanded no less than the undivided concentration of others, and Felicia would take pride in silencing it as she has done other fellow annoyances in the past.

She reluctantly turned to see that the voice justified the pompous frame of a young man that it belonged to. Irritation hastily stretched even the finer lines that adorned his visage, bestowing upon it the illusion of length with the aid of his somber exasperation. It continued its escapade, wandering to his chiseled jaw where it rested as it clenched the bones in his discontent. Even his flaxen hair appeared to bristle on top his head, as if becoming animated by his vexed exasperation. He taped his foot upon the cobble path to an impatient rhythm that buzzed within his irate mind, warning him of the seconds inexorably passing by as he wasted them conversing with such impotent and incompetent help. His brow rose sharply as the cerulean in his eyes spun blazing flames of irritation, smoldering as he fixed such a scrutinizing gaze upon Felicia that within a single glance, questioned her level of competence.

When Felicia had offered to aid Merlin in his chores, she failed to anticipate being accosted by such a pompous fellow whose overbearing appearance alone was enough to set her teeth on edge. Indeed, this was a most unfortunate turn of events for her.

The arrogant autocrat even possessed the audacity to carry himself as if he were royalty, stretching to his full length in order to tower over others in a menacing way his father had taught him. Yet, his authoritatively rigid posture alone was not enough to convince Felicia. To her, he was nothing more than an conceited tyrant who desperately needed a lesson in proper grace and humility. And naturally, Felicia fancied herself the teacher.

"Well," he drew the word out upon his tongue, stretching each letter with aggravation as he awaited a reaction from her – one other than such a vacant gaze that was hastily transforming into a glower. "Don't just stand there like a dimwitted oaf! My horse needs water, and see to it that he receives a proper brushing for the tournament tomorrow."

"How dare you," Felicia supplied curtly, immersed within a low rumble that carried the warning weight of thunder before the storm. "Where do you come off addressing people in such a callous manner, you pretentious ass?"

Such a curt remark caused the young man to stagger slightly from its dexterous blow. Slowly, a smirk breathed new life to his visage as it twisted his lips with his mirth, subconsciously pleased to see someone with such intrepid vigor, regardless of the help's audacity. "You can't address me like that." He warned, the irritation ebbing as it gave way to disgruntled authority and slight amusement.

There was something strikingly familiar about this stable hand, but Arthur was not quite able to put his finger on it. Regardless, he would be more than delighted to purge the rebel of his insolent insults by sentencing him to stocks for the afternoon.

"I will address you however I please," Felicia retorted brusquely, every ounce of venom returning to her tone as her hands rested securely upon her hips in a chastising fashion, a pose she mimicked from her mother for it always seemed to justify her reprimands. "Who do you think you are to demand such special treatment?"

Arthur eagerly parted his lips to speak his retort, delightfully willing to elucidate this stable boy of his proper title, and thus savor the highly anticipated dazed expression that would cling to this boy's visage along with the string of sniveling apologies that would escape from his mouth. Alas, Arthur's vengeance was interrupted by another's unruly presence.

"What's all this about?" Merlin inquired with what Arthur liked to refer to as an obnoxious tone.

The young manservant panted heavily as he came bobbing down the hill, holding more fresh game than his lanky limbs could support. While Arthur was granted the privilege of returning to Camelot upon the back of his noble steed, Merlin was mandated to take the mile trek back from the hunting ground on foot with lanky arms full of Arthur's victories. It was retribution for what Arthur irritably declared as "frightening the deer away with your insufferable voice." Naturally, Merlin remarked with an affront that questioned Arthur's hunting ability, which did little to improve his sentence.

"Ah, Just in time, Merlin." It was perhaps the kindest words the king's son has ever uttered to his manservant, and thus Merlin became wary of an offense to follow. "It seems I have found someone even more incompetent than you." Arthur's gaze returned rancorously back to Felicia whose glower only blazed brighter by his comment. Merlin merely sighed out of a prophesized discontent, realizing that he indeed was not being complimented.

Felicia despised the way this boorish man wielded her friend's name, as if he were no more than an object set aside for his enjoyment. She watched sullenly as her childhood friend was rendered expendable by this boy's supercilious gaze and felt the resentment within her rise once more.

"You will not speak of my friend in such an ill manner, you tyrant!"

Merlin's head lowered in slight mortification over Felicia's protective nature. Merlin assumed that such an attribute would be bestowed upon him considering he was the eldest and the male. Nevertheless, Felicia's stubborn disposition and tenacious loyalty always compelled her to rush to his defense in circumstances such as these. Merlin always found gratitude in his heart for her productive conduct, yet he feared times such as these where it might just cost her, her insubordinate tongue.

Arthur had prepared a callous retort intended to be proceeded by a jail sentence, yet the utterance of one word willed him to hold his tongue and keep his vulgar thoughts at bay. "Friend?" He repeated the word dubiously as his gaze shifted between the two, surveying in a scrutinizing manner. "I didn't know you had any friends, Merlin," Arthur snickered through the insult, never believing the clumsy oaf of a manservant was capable of such things that required communication skills, "and with the stable boy none the less," Arthur lightly approved, despite the arrogance in his tone never subsiding. He praised his manservant in a manner one would a dog who had fetched a stick, behaving in no less than the approved manner expected of him.

"I'm a girl, you supercilious clotpole." Felicia's words were fully immersed within her vex, leaving them to be weighted by her irate tone that blazed even within her cross glare. She found delight in using the term Merlin fashioned, always hearing him uttering the word but never trying it out for herself.

Arthur's attention had been previously adverted from Felicia's appearance until now, believing to partake in the complete observation of commoners to be trifling and superfluous. It was now that he noted her delicate, docile features that had been concealed by the slight withering of her labor. Nonetheless, Arthur was not one to admit his wrongdoings.

He merely scoffed before crafting yet another affront, discontented by what filled his line of vision and thus feeling the need to express so. "Well, forgive me," he ridiculed with mock concern, a blatant derision tainting his tone, "but what was I suppose to have assumed by those tattered working boots, frayed tunic, and overall disheveled appearance?" His eyes passed skeptically over Felicia's attire, grimacing slightly from her vulgar and uncouth ensemble in order to reinforce his point. "If you want people to assume you are a girl, then it might be wise of you to dress more _accordingly_." His insult lingered upon the girl's questionable intellect as he spoke the term slowly; caressing it with a malicious tenor that Merlin recognized only to be a fraction of what he was capable of. When it came to throwing irritable insults, Arthur truly was the son of the King.

Felicia inhaled sharply to fuel her next attack but Merlin's words silenced her before she was granted the chance to even part her lips and unleash their callous remark. Naturally, Arthur was pleased to have had the last word in their argument, embellishing his pride within a boasting smirk that Felicia sincerely desired to clout.

"Sire," Merlin spoke cautiously, not wishing to vex Arthur more than necessary with an improper title, and thus be on the receiving end of yet another blow from one of the Prince's rather substantial goblets, "this is my childhood friend, Felicia. Felicia, this is Prince Arthur."

"So you are the arrogant prat that Merlin has been writing about," Felicia declared with an impish grin, all past irritation fading from her features as she set her eyes anew upon this entitled Prince. Merlin failed at suppressing his snicker, for his friend truly had a way with words.

Arthur, on the other end of the class system, was not amused by such insolent conduct and would see to his vengeance. Besides, he thought he was quite the affable fellow – much better than that lethargic and obnoxious Merlin.

Suddenly remembering the proper etiquette her mother tormented her with, Felicia graced her comment with what little tact she possessed left, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." The notion of a curtsey eluded her mind as she extended her hand for a friendly shake amongst acquaintances.

"Charmed," Arthur forced the word from clenched teeth as it appeared taut over his tact. His gaze fell reluctantly upon her hand, scrutiny running rapid within his eyes as he thought her to be positively deranged. Never in all his years has he known a girl to conduct herself so unruly and to not even possess the civilized shame to be appalled by her own demeanor. It only appeared befitting to him that she was Merlin's friend.

Yet, he would pounder over the unruly conundrum that was Felicia later, for now was the time to menace his cheeky manservant. "Arrogant prat?" Arthur repeated to Merlin with such an irritable tone that compelled Felicia to flinch.

With such an ill and foreboding sense, Merlin recognized the acerbic tone Arthur chose to wield. It usually followed a verdict to the stocks, and Merlin, after trekking through the wilderness with a plethora of Arthur's now spoiling kills, was in no disposition to spend the afternoon being pelted by rotten tomatoes thank you very much. He decided to merely shy away from Arthur's vexed gaze in response, withholding his insults in knowing their utterance would only lengthen his punishment.

Realizing her choice in words might have sounded impertinent to certain company's ears, and not wishing Merlin to pay the price for her remark, Felicia set to right her wrong. "Please don't punish him on the account of my callous tongue. I am sure that he meant 'arrogant prat' in an endearing way," She supplied wistfully while sending apprehensive apologies to Merlin within the verdant of her eyes that beseeched for his clemency, as she silently reprimanded herself for her insubordinate mouth always stirring such trouble.

"Of course!" Merlin interjected, pleased to have the opportunity to fashion such a lie that might save his hide. "In fact, it is a title of respect where we come from." His words appeared earnest despite the impish grin that clung to his lips, revealing his amusement upon the situation.

He was only met by a stern look from Arthur that signaled he did not reciprocate Merlin's mirth upon the circumstance. He seldom ever did.

"I am only making this worse, aren't I?" Merlin feared to inquire, knowing the chances of the answer being one of considerate sympathy not in his favor.

"I'm not sure, Merlin. Apparently I am too much of an arrogant prat to know."

"Does this mean that I won't be put in the stocks?"

That afternoon Merlin found himself picking rotten tomatoes from his hair. Each chunk he produced from his feral tresses was accompanied by the recurring words of Felicia's apologies.

* * *

_He rode fiercely upon the back of his white steed, his horse's strides falling as rolling thunder as he pressed on like the death that had escaped from hell. Few could speak his name, and even less knew his face, for he was the mysterious Red Raven and he rode for virtue._

Felicia recalled fondly the clichéd opening lines to her beloved legend as she stayed awake, listening to the lull of the silence as the ones she loved were swept far away by their dreams. The blatant trite connotations were lost upon her ears, for she believed them to embrace a greater power; her childhood. So much of it was spent listening to these very words that it was inconceivable to her for them to hold even a feather's weight of fiction. They were life itself – the life she had chosen for herself.

Her eyelids beseeched her to let them fall and whisk her away to the land of dreams, yet she continued to ignore their whimpers as her mind filled with the day's wonders and accomplishments. She could hardly fathom the events that unfolded in order to have led her to this precise moment – the most wonderful of moments in Felicia's history of monotonous moments. At times, she believed it all to be a dream, nothing more than a fabrication of grandeur from her illusory mind. Yet, as her gaze remained devotedly fixed upon the aged leather scabbard that concealed her aspirations, she knew it all to be true. She sighed out of content from the sight, a serene breath that coerced the corners of her lips to blissfully curl in a soft smile.

She knew what tomorrow would bring, and she remained eager for it to fill her with the promises of a reclaimed youth.

* * *

Far beyond the horizon, in a land forgotten by time itself, an elderly man on the cusp of his grave entwined his crooked fingers together in a giddy glee. "The time has come," he spoke in a voice long since forgone by sanity as it raised his inflection to such a sharp octave that pierced through his unrelenting giggles. "Oh, and how I do love a fine beginning!"

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**A/N: Thank you all for reading! Now for some comment time . . .**

**Koltarmi: Thank you so much for noticing the effort I put into choosing my writing style! To me, the words are just as important as the concept of the story, so I am beyond elated that you said that! I hope you continue to think this as the story progresses and thank you once again for sharing your feedback. I really do appreciate it!**

**Guest: Thank you so much and I hope that I didn't keep you waiting for too long!**

**As you can tell, I absolutely love reviews, so go ahead and send me yours! Any critiques, questions, proclamations of love – Too obvious? – comments, or suggestions that you may have will be greatly adored. I would especially appreciate some suggestions because I created this story on a whim, and therefore, I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this. So if you have any scenes that you would like to see happen between the characters, any romance requests, or a certain event to occur, please put it in your review and I will be more than delighted to consider it. I promise to love anything you give me, so please hit that review button! Hit it like you mean it!**


	4. Chapter 3

**The Red Raven**

III

_Of Tactless Lies and Beloved Legends_

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**A/N: I decided to reedit this chapter after taking a second look. Certain parts appeared a bit too forced for my liking so I decided to alter them – a reoccurring them in my indecisive writing style as of late. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!**

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The distinguishably profound scent of mead rose and tickled Merlin's nose in such an alluring way, causing his mouth to insatiably water in a manner he did not know to exist. Perhaps it was Gaius 's porridge that was causing Merlin to lower his gluttonous cuisine expectations so. He savored the idea of drowning himself in a tankard he has seen so many before him succumb to, the eminent Prince Arthur included, yet he promptly dismissed such frivolous notions with a simple shake of the head.

He was here for business, at least according to Arthur's perverse principles he was.

Normally Merlin would find himself in the Prince's tent during these brutish events, on the receiving end of a series of commands that border lined on conceited and boorish. However, recently it has come to the Prince's attention that Merlin's talents lie elsewhere in the art of dressing armor and strategic tactics. Merlin could not find the will to oppose such a verdict. He only wished that Arthur would come to this conclusion on the majority of his chores, particularly the tedious ones.

Never one to ease the burdens of his servants, Arthur hastily sent Merlin to the stands of every match to note the audience's receptiveness towards their Prince's triumph and "esteemed valor". He was instructed several times, and in a rather debasingly dawdle of a pace that questioned Merlin's level of competence, to regard the people's words, searching for those that put their future king in a becoming light in order to further stroke his already imperious ego. Arthur deemed it a "reconnaissance mission" where as Merlin rightfully refereed to it as eavesdropping. Nonetheless, this trifling correction lead to the throwing of a pillow, that when wielded properly, was not as comforting as it appeared.

Besides, Arthur already had his qualms that Merlin was a rubbish drunk who's second home was none other than the Rising Sun Tavern – no thanks to Gaius's "excuses". It would do him little good to prove truth in them now, even though Merlin had remained sober all his life, a detail he felt exceptionally compelled to mention. It was an accomplishment he was quite proud of, especially considering he was the servant to the King's supercilious clotpole of a son.

Notions of inebriated idleness vanished promptly from his mind as the roar of the crowd soon flooded Merlin's ears, giving him little time to pounder anything else besides the new found ringing their ovation and cheers crafted.

The heavy footfalls of pretentious men in rattling and clattering chainmail reverberated throughout the stands, only to be greeted in full by another bellow of the crowd as the contenders stood their ground in the arena. It was accompanied by the piercing wind tumbling through the many array of banners clasped tightly by each onlooker, providing an idealistic connection to each fan and their so called "champion." Despite their colorful attractions, Merlin found little amusement in the banners and even less in the "sport" they cheered for. He simply could not comprehend the magnitude of such an event where dundering and blundering clotpoles tried to whack one another with sharp sticks all under the illusion of refined decorum commonly referred to as nobility.

Despite his grumbles and grievances, Merlin still found himself in the stands for every competition. The gratitude for such an action must be given to none other than his prat of a friend Arthur, who was perhaps the most dundering and blundering of the clotpoles. Regardless of his friend's mental standing, Merlin remained fixed in his seat, knowing all too well the quandaries that the future king would soon face.

Merlin fervently crossed his fingers in a silent inclination that today would be the day their beloved prince would suffer a blow to the head that would knock some of the conceit from him.

Absently, the young wizard turned to the left, as if subconsciously remembering something to be forgotten, only to encounter the vacant seat beside him. It was the seat he had reserved for Felicia, but she was nowhere to be found. However, this did little to fret the boy, for she was seldom a punctual person. Nevertheless, it did trouble his mind in a thin haze of misgiving for she always seemed to take delight in these pointless games, and to miss one would surly bring her grief later.

He was given little time to pounder over this new anomaly as a fierce hush rippled throughout the crowd, silencing even his own lips. In a similar fashion as the spectators before him, he too became entranced as the two opponents began to encircle one another, arranging their blade for a swift and decisive attack. The young wizard was always one to be easily amused, even by such belligerent means.

That was when he saw it, drawing his attention as a moth to a flame. He was pulled to it by a means greater than himself, a means he could not ignore.

A silhouette of a raven fashioned by ruby red paint adorned the scratched metal of the shield that has witnessed many callous battles given its tattered condition. It appeared oddly familiar to him, prickling his mind with contemplation as he mulled over the shield's depiction of a red raven.

It stuck him hard as if a blow to the head, the memory glaring within his mind as it pushed all other thoughts far into its recesses. With a new found rationale, he averted his attention back towards the vacant seat.

A violent shock rippled across his spine, relentlessly piercing his flesh, awaking every nerve in his body as one by one they all cried of a foreboding dismay. "Good heavens, no," he murmured to the discretion of the crowd that merely disregarded his outburst as misplaced enthusiasm. He felt his fingers coil under the pressure of his fists, painting his knuckles an insipid white upon his melody of anticipation and scorn.

It came flooding back to him, and for a moment, he was a boy once more. The reverberating sound of children's laughter, the frail scent of rain, the feel of the crisp pages of a legend, and the gritted enunciation of an old companion reminded him of a childhood he once shared.

He knew that emblem from an upbringing he once left behind. It once belonged to the Red Raven, the knight from a common peasant's legends that animated Merlin and Felicia as children before drifting off to sleep where their dreams were filled with imposing notions of gallant knights and damsels in distress. However, it always seemed to enliven Felicia more as she took the legends to heart, crafting her life around the fictitious adventures entwined within the printed words on the pages of a fable.

He feared he knew the figure clad in loose armor, dexterously wielding a sword to the derisory extent of a birth as a farmer's daughter. He felt his stomach churn upon the realization, contemplating if Felicia had suddenly become deranged. As children, he thought nothing of her zealous ramblings of becoming a knight, assuming them to fade with maturity. Now he wished he had discouraged her all those years ago. He feared he would lose her to the vast skill of the other competitors. And if not to that, then to Uther's rampage once he realized her to not only be of a commoner's birth but of the fair sex as well. His stomach churned once more, regretting his decision of consuming breakfast for once in his life.

Merlin watched on in silent admiration entwined with a dash of pale consternation as his friend appeared to hold her own. He found himself clutching the edge of his seat and even gasping with the rest of the crowd as one competitor managed to disarm her. Yet, she never faltered. Absent a blade, she merely stole his in a fluid maneuver that Merlin could only depict as dumb luck, and proceeded to threaten his life with his own weapon until he yielded just as the others.

It was odd to see such a petite thing defeat those twice her size in combat. Her chainmail hung loosely upon her in a size made for a much larger bloke, and consequently weighed her down as it rendered her to appear nothing more than a comic relief.

The crowd first erupted into a sea of rancorous laughter upon the sight of her scrawny frame, barley possessing the stamina to wield her sword with one hand. They were soon silenced by her first victory appearing in only a matter of seconds – a pretentious man brandishing twin blades, and filled with a bantering impudence upon the gag of his opponent, charged at her for her to only effortlessly sidestep his attack, fluently tripping him and then pressing the tip of her blade to the back of his neck until he yielded. The crowd soon roared with their enthusiastic cloud for their unlikely hero, and Felicia merely waved modestly to them. She was not here for the glory – oh no, she was here for something far better: to fulfill a childhood dream.

She was not the most proficient, as Merlin had come to observe, but what she lacked in trained combat, she repaid in full with her insightful tactic. She used her wit to overpower their strength, endure their tenacity, and outmaneuver their agility. She stood as still as time, observing her opponents maneuvers around her, her gaze focused intently and relentlessly calculating. And when an opening appeared, she struck hard and true. For those that recognized her cunning, she deceived, appearing to strike one way only to abruptly change tactics. She was tolerantly wise, but Merlin feared it would not be enough to grant her the conquest she sought, especially against Arthur's immaculate skill.

When the tournament had ended for the first of two days, Merlin remained in his seat, dumbstruck and outlandishly void from the storm of emotions that had overtaken him only moments ago. Given the time, he had come to the conclusion that all of his acquaintances were deranged.

* * *

Dinner that night proved to be rather humdrum as Felicia found herself on the receiving end of one of Merlin's silent treatments. Well, that is what Merlin had intended it to be if only he were able to remain quiet long enough. Silence was never one of the young warlock's strengths, and it appeared to fail him even in the times of these juvenile actions of passive aggression.

When Gaius exempted himself from the cleansing of the kitchen to resume his medicinal toil, Merlin lamentably realized that the time to speak was upon him.

There was so much that he wished to convey to her, the acknowledgment of the deceit and the clemency that must follow. Yet when the opportunity presented itself, he found himself peculiarly grasping for words. The treachery and pretense of it all finally left him remarkably silent for once in his life.

The ease with which she smiled did not go unnoticed even by one as brooding and sulking as Merlin. A smile was always quick to hang itself upon the young maiden's lips, but there was something remarkably different about this one. It was brighter – as if it captured the jovial glow that gleamed within her eyes and radiated from her heart. With such a magnitude, it casted all before it as mere shames, tiny imposters of the genuine, the unremarkable.

With such a radiant glow of ecstasy upon her, the mere wake of which held Merlin's tongue – for who was he to squander and spoil his friend's happiness?

Such unadulterated happiness seldom wanders to the likes of commoners, an adverse truth he has regrettably learned from his departure from home. Regardless, its blessing alone was no measure to his juvenile pout, the likes of which he had ages to perfect. True happiness alone was not enough to prevent its daunting arrival as notions of perfidy, fraudulence, and isolation roamed freely within Merlin's ever troubling mind.

How could his companion of a childhood interlaced with one another's company not trust him enough to confess such preemptive news? Did they not hold the accordance to share and divulge even the smallest of secrets that was sealed with the entwining of their pinkies?

Merlin did his best to rid his mind of such disconcerting accusations with such imprudent notions of trust, however, they always found their way back to him.

He desired nothing more within this dreaded moment to end this game by revealing his hand with the world shattering words of _I know what you are doing_, but he feared they would sound more childish aloud than what idleness already rang throughout his head. Thus, his lips remained forcefully sealed, choosing to rest his faith upon mutual trust despite the lingering skepticisms that queried the extent of such mutuality. What allegations he held, they managed to surface in his eloquent and astute gaze.

It would seem that Merlin would not be made to wait long; for when Felicia glanced up from her meal, the young warlock's accusations were all but being put into words to her deducing eyes. The portion of stew that lay on Felicia's spoon remained untouched and forgotten in the wake of such a shrewd gaze. It alone was enough to alert her of his judgment; for like most enduring friendships, theirs has developed past the confines of the spoken word. Between the two of them every brow raise was an accusation, every compellingly stretched line of a smile was a mistruth, and every glimmer in their eyes was a tale waiting for the other to interpret and comprehend. Felicia had long ago learned to speak in the way of the Merlins of this world, and it was for that reason alone why, when she looked upon her friend's sullen and rather daunting expression marked by the thin lines of apprehension, she could only forsake her ignorant façade.

"You know." The words pressed forth in an astounded whisper upon her lips, but their weight still pushed firmly on top of Merlin's shoulders, encumbering them with the dialogue he had been silently rehearsing all afternoon.

The unhinging of his lips in a slender frown that seemed to peculiarly soften the shade of cerulean in his eyes might as well have been a nod of affirmation.

It was no look of scorned contempt or disdain; it was only the bewilderment of concern and confusion. His expression alone was enough to ebb her resolve. She wished to divulge everything to him, but the trepidation soon seized her throat, twisting her coherent thoughts into nothing more than the prattle of the culpable.

"You were not supposed to find out this way." Even in the presence of such accusations, she remained composed, despite the turmoil of emotions raging within. "I wanted to tell you – honestly, I did. I had intended for you to find out," she paused momentarily as she noted the pain within his eyes that he tried so desperately to conceal, knowing that she was the one to put it there. "But never like this," she continued with a tone softened by her remorse.

"You did not come to Camelot to only escape your mother, did you?" They were the only words he could utter to great hers, as inept as he feared them to be. Merlin feared he already knew the answer he sought, yet he wanted it confirmed by her own lips, and thus the question lingered in the air with a toxic venom only the worlds a childhood friend's could carry.

Her shoulders tensed in their trepidation of what fait was to be bestowed upon her. For the briefest of moments, she questioned the young wizard's loyalty, only to be reassured by the leverage their life shared provided.

The remorse soon overwhelmed the paranoia that had corrupted her mind and had distorted her allies into enemies before her very eyes. It only worsened upon sight of the despondency he carried in his eyes. She had never intended for it to end like this. All she could do was avert her eyes, and thus veil herself from the truth once more with such lavish notions of denial.

"I'm so sorry, Merlin," she offered her apologies tenderly, knowing them to be all that she had left.

This was not their first disagreement, and she feared that it would never be their last. But the experience had caused her to familiarize herself with the young warlock's methods of clemency, knowing him to offer it as easily as his smile. Merlin knew this to be expected of him, and perhaps that was why he refused it this time, startling not only her, but himself included.

"This is mad," he pressed, his vigor restored upon her soft apologies. His derision did not return to him because of her duplicity. No, this time it was brought forth to him due to her lack of concern for her own welfare, as if her very existence was expendable in the aims of her aspirations.

His mind began to race with notions of anguish and dejection, all unable to be contained in his hastened prattle. "No, this is beyond mad. How do you expect to fool the guards, not to mention all of Camelot and King Uther into thinking you are of noble birth, much less male?" His tone raised several octaves, marked tense by his worry and anticipation of the ramifications of her inconsiderate actions as he rigidly paced what little chambers the kitchen provided, seeking a resolution with every footfall.

"If Uther finds out, he'll have you executed!"His words stung with the bane only a childhood friend's scorn could possess.

"Then he won't find out!" Felicia exclaimed, wielding her exasperated tone as a blade for she has far grown weary of being treated like the child she once was.

Her tone promptly softened by her remorse upon noting the bafflement that has etched itself into her friend's visage, aging him far beyond his years with such a profound distress as he tried to comprehend her reckless abandonment of common sense. "You fret too much for your age, my dear friend. I have already thought of everything," she attempted to assure only to watch in mild discontent as Merlin's brow rose in a manner that astoundingly mimicked Gaius's, indicating towards his cynicism and unprecedented tenacity towards the subject.

"Who forged your royal crest?"

Curse his astuteness, for he always knew the very question she would rater left unanswered!

"I don't have one," she murmured tenderly, wishing for her response to fall upon deaf ears. However, fait was never as benevolent as she had silently prayed it to be.

"You don't have one?" he repeated incredulously, wondering why the girl's actions that could only be described as folly managed to still elicit such revelation after all this time. After all, it was simply a part of the girl's boisterous nature.

"No," she confirmed with new found confidence tightening her inflection upon noting an absence of shouting. "It turns out that documentation and royal seals are irrelevant when one has stealth and the good fortune of luck upon one's side."

"You snuck in by scribbling the Red Raven under the list of competitors when the guard was distracted, didn't you?"

"He was quite daft. You should probably alert Arthur."

Instead of a stern lecture on the importance of maintaining morals, it merely coerced a string of boisterous laugher from the boy that compelled Felicia to recede her stockade of resistance. "I am not certain that we can trust this fortune for much longer. You know how luck tends to evade you. I will have your royal crest finished for you by the end of the tournament."

"You will do no such thing." The young wizard, who was once again marked just a boy by his friend's vexed gaze, parted his lips to fashion the dissent he had been silently rehearsing all this time in the stands only to be silenced by the young maiden's quick wit. "I know that we have come accustomed to doing everything together, but this is a path that I cannot let you follow. If I get caught, I don't want your name to be tainted."

"You cannot make that decision for me. I am your friend, and I will help you whether you approve of it or not." With the righteous and virtuous gaze that lightened the cerulean within his eyes in an unprecedented angelic manner that none before her were able to defy, she knew that the argument had been won, and not by her own lips.

After she reveled in the sigh of bitter trounce, she effortlessly breathed the words, "Thank you, Merlin." Although she would never admit it to the young wizard out of trepidation upon being perceived as soft – or wore, _emotional_! – she would be forever grateful for his intrusion. His compassion never ceased to amaze her, and for a moment she was reminded of the munificence that still lingered in this world as the flickering of a flame before being snuffed out.

The inane grin that Felicia had come to adore in her friend presented itself once more, curling his lips in a way that reflected the mirth within his glistening cobalt eyes. "Besides, you are going to need my help. You know you will have to face Arthur in the finals tomorrow."

"I know," she replied solicitously, knowing her resolution to be the monster that waited to torment her dreams tonight. She already felt it encumbering her conciseness in a manner unlike the impulsive decisions that were absent of reflection that was always conceived to be customary of her.

Her response was a touch too grave for the young wizard's liking, and thus saw himself fit to eradicate such asinine notions of reservation.

"Give him a good trashing over the head for me."

Felicia merely smiled at her friend's request, relinquishing a jovial chortle from her lips that permitted Merlin to join in his own boisterous laughter. It appears that Merlin now had another reason to attend the tournaments.

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**A/N: Thank you all for reading! Now it's time for some comments . . .**

**StarlightShivers: Thank you! I hope that you continue to find this story intriguing. As for your question, I have decided to make this story an Arthur/OC/Gwaine story. I hope this verdict is to everyone's liking. **

**Twilightbaby93: Thank you so much for your double posts! I wish I had a cookie to give you. I do try to maintain the character's attitudes and depictions as best as possible and I am glad to know that my attempts are successful. Please let me know if I ever stray away from it! **

**Bastet667: I appreciate your kind words! I am pleased to know that I do not have the writing style of a 10 year old, considering I am almost twice that age (bleh, I am so old). Yes, Gwaine will be making an appearance later in these chapters. I'm glad to know that you are eagerly awaiting his dialogue with Felicia, and hopefully I will not disappoint. I'm quite excited for it myself. **

**Lula 182: I'm glad the title caught your attention too! You ask a very good question to which I am not entirely sure the answer to. I had originally intended for this story to open in the first season, but now I am entertaining the idea of it being placed later. I will certainly let you know when I have made up my mind. As of right now, I am not following the story line, and instead I am just making up my own. **

**Badwolfette21: I am very pleased to know that you like the story so far, and I have no intensions of stopping it, although I might be delayed for certain periods of time. Gwaine's my favorite knight too and any suggestions for dialogue between the two of them that you have would be greatly appreciated!**

**Thank you all for reading and reviews would be greatly appreciated. Any critiques, questions, or suggestions that you may have will be adored. If you have any scenes that you would like to see happen between the characters, any romance requests, or a certain event to occur, please put it in your review and I will be more than delighted to consider it. I promise to love anything you give me, so please hit that review button! Hit it like you mean it!**


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